


Pam, Who Death Finally Remembers

by nonebinary_leftbeef



Category: Monster Factory - Polygon (Web Series), Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Crack?, Gen, I have no knowledge of fallout 4, Pam who Death forgot, Post-Apocalypse, but I have a passion for the Final Pam, is crack treated seriously in a post apocalyptic setting my brand now?, kind of?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 01:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30114885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonebinary_leftbeef/pseuds/nonebinary_leftbeef
Summary: Pam is left to wander the aftermath of a world that has torn itself apart.
Kudos: 1





	Pam, Who Death Finally Remembers

**Author's Note:**

> I started drafting this while crying and listening to Dolly Parton's 9 to 5 so that's probably why this is Like That.

Pam, who Death forgot.

Of all the titles that she’s acquired over the years of wandering this fractured world, that was perhaps her favorite. It made her resilience seem so effortless, as though her survival was a simple mistake of the universe. As though when Death brushed his frigid, calloused hand indiscriminately across the ruins of great cities and humble towns alike, he had skipped over her purely by accident. It remained metaphorically so for a while. When she woke up to see that bastard of a sun blaring in her face, surrounded by unfortunate souls who would never have to deal with it again, she chalked it up to her strength. Or possibly even just chance. Though, she later supposed, the latter was rather accurate in its own twisted way.

She had no way of keeping track of time, so if someone put a knife to her throat and asked her how long she’d been caught in this hellscape, she’d be unable to say if it had been months or years. So she wasn’t quite sure when things started to feel off (In all fairness, everything feels off at the end of the world). But she had a feeling that perhaps something was wrong when every ghost town was no longer haunted by folks desperately clinging to what could only barely be called a life, or when she was no longer woken up in the middle of the night by rats nibbling on her arm. It had been a gradual extinction, but there was one day it had hit her. The wasteland had seemed lifeless in its first days, but in retrospective it had been anything but. Every scuttling cockroach, every camp of hesitant survivors, even the dried brush that managed to stay alive. Compared to the cities of old it was minor, but compared to what she now found herself facing, it was everything. It had been alive. And now it was truly dead. Not even a tumbleweed to roll across the horizon and make her laugh at the cliche. 

The world was dead. 

Yet she was not.

\---

The figure was perhaps the first she’d seen in weeks. For longer than she was willing to admit, when she held her hand to her face to block the glare of the sun she thought it was an odd rock formation, or a dead tree that hadn’t gotten the message it was supposed to fall, or perhaps nothing at all. Her mind had stayed sound so far, but she had heard stories of those who had been left in the sun too long and started screaming about things that weren’t there.

The question of her sanity was not eased as she got close enough to see the figure in detail. He stood tall in a black cloak that obscured his entirety, save for a pair of skeletal hands that gripped a length of stained and tattered paper. Whether he was a mirage or not, Pam knew who this was. She knew Death stood before her. 

Anyone else would have been afraid, but not Pam. Within Pam boiled not fear, but anger.

“What could you possibly want from me?” she demanded.

Death’s hands had no skin or muscle, only sinew connecting bone, so Pam was able to see the slightest twitch of his finger.

“Whatever you have come to take from me, you are too late. I have nothing left to give.”

“It is not about what I wish to take, but what I have come to offer.” Death’s voice was as light as the desert wind and seemingly just as dust-filled. “I offer release.”

Death turned the paper around to reveal a single word written in clean, bold letters, one they both knew would be there. 

_Pam._

“Everyone you’ve lost,” Death said, “I can take you to them. You can finally rest.”

“Rest,” Pam mused.

“All you have to do is come here.” 

Death extended an arm outwards and a scythe materialized in his hand, silver and gleaming.

Pam took a step towards Death.

“Will it hurt?” she asked.

“We both know you don’t fear pain,” Death sighed. “But no. It won’t. You’ll feel weightless and free. Freer than you have been in all your life. I’ve been told it’s a rather cathartic feeling.”

Pam took a step towards Death.

“And everyone I love, everyone you’ve taken, they’ll be there?”

Death nodded.

Pam took a step towards Death.

And grabbed the scythe from his hand.

And buried it in his head.

Death did not cry out, nor did he bleed, but he did collapse. The hood fell back to reveal his face, and Pam allowed herself just a moment to see who she had conquered. His face, like his hands, was only bone. Where his eyes should have been there were only hollow, empty sockets. Well, only one of them was empty. The other had a scythe shoved in it, sending cracks cascading through the surrounding bone.

Once she had allowed herself to drink in the satisfaction, she ran for she knew that Death could not die, in much the same way that she refused to. She expected Death’s voice to turn grim and rough and curse her very bones. But there was nothing. She stole a glance back, just once. Surely the reaper would be giving chase, mounted atop a white stallion or carried by a cloud of ravens or whatever other romanticized and overused imagery.

But Death stood still. He had removed the scythe from his skull and it now lay upon the desert ash. He touched a hand to his face, gingerly tracing its new fractures. He caught her eye as she looked back. Something told Pam that if Death had a face to convey emotion he would have looked betrayed.

But that was just for a moment, and soon she was back to chasing the sun as it sank against the horizon before her, not daring to look back again less so for fear of Death’s hand reaching for her neck and more for fear of guilt worming its way into a heart that was regrettably still there.

And so began Death’s pursuit of the Final Pam.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually have a plan for where this is gonna go, but that is what I said with the last fic I wrote and,,, well,,,


End file.
